Dark Moon Crossing (19 page)

Growing more heartsick by the minute, my mind skated
off in several different directions as I conjured up one distressing scenario
after another starring Bethany the blonde cowgirl Barbie doll and Tally. “Cut
it out!” I whispered aloud. What kind of an idiot was I?‌ Tally had said
nothing, done nothing to warrant these unfounded, petty suspicions. Convinced
that I was just fatigued, I banished all thoughts from my mind and fell into a
deep sleep that probably would have continued until noon if the rapping at my
door hadn’t jarred me awake. “Yes?‌” I croaked, propping myself up on one
elbow, noting with a twinge of irritation that it was still dark outside.

“It’s five o’clock,” called Twyla. “If you want to go
with Champ for that ranch tour you requested, you’ll have to get up now.”

Oh, yes. The tour. When pressed about my unexpected
arrival, I’d stuck to my cover story after giving them an abbreviated version
of Walter’s move to Castle Valley and my desire to complete the series he’d
begun on the border-jumping issues affecting ranchers. Champ had graciously
offered to escort me around the ranch property and give me a real education.

Dressed in jeans and a long-sleeved turtleneck, I
joined Twyla and Champ for a hearty bacon and eggs breakfast while the kitchen
help worked feverishly preparing food for the guests who’d not yet ventured
from their warm beds. I felt relieved that neither Jason nor Bethany was
present. Maybe I’d be lucky and get away without ever seeing them again. I
pushed my plate away while stifling a yawn. Even though I’d slept like a rock,
I still didn’t feel rested and had surprisingly little appetite. Strange for
me.

Dawn was busy painting the rugged horizon a stunning
turquoise blue, and streaking it with vivid magenta clouds by the time Champ
finished his third cup of coffee. We had just pushed away from the table when
Twyla shot a startled look over my shoulder. “Cecil, what on earth…?‌”

The two Hispanic girls peeling potatoes blushed and
turned away giggling, as I followed the astonished stare of the Indian cook
towards the kitchen doorway. I could hardly believe my eyes. An elderly man
of perhaps eighty stood there with a towel in one hand, and a bar of soap in
the other, wearing an expression of total confusion and nothing more. Not a
stitch. Nada.

“Christ Almighty,” Champ choked, jumping to his feet
and running to the man’s side. “Dad?‌ Dad, what’s going on?‌” He grabbed the
towel and wrapped it around the man’s slender waist. “Twyla, where the hell is
Felix?‌ Isn’t he supposed to be watching him?‌”

“I’ll go find him,” she said, hurrying from the room.

As if coming out of a trance, the old guy focused
bleary eyes on his son.

“What are you doing here?‌” Champ repeated, gentler
this time.

“I thought…well, I was…trying to find the bathroom.
Guess I took a wrong turn,” he mumbled. When his gaze landed on me, an odd
light of recognition flickered behind his eyes. “Penelope?‌ My God, Penelope
is that you?‌” Grinning foolishly, he took a step towards me and Champ grasped
his arm tighter. “Dad, that’s not Penelope. This is Kendall O’Dell. She’s a
friend of Tally’s.”

“Oh?‌ Tally,” he repeated vaguely. “Sure, sure.” His
wrinkly jowls drooped with disappointment and my insides ached for this man who
appeared lost in his own house, in his own head. He was obviously suffering
from some sort of dementia and I wondered if it was Alzheimer’s. If so, my
heart went out to all concerned. I’d done several pieces on this devastating
disease and knew that the victim’s painstakingly slow downward spiral was
traumatic for friends and family alike.

“Meester Bo,” cried an equally ancient-looking Hispanic
man, rushing to Cecil’s side. “Why do you run away from me like that,
amigo
?‌”
He edged a guilt-laden look at Champ and shrugged his apology. “I am filling
the bathtub and I don’t see….”

“That’s okay, Felix,” Champ responded, patting him on
the back. “Don’t be too hard on yourself. No harm done.”

“Remember when we didn’t even have indoor plumbing?‌”
Cecil remarked with a faraway look glazing his eyes. “We heated the water in a
big copper tub and took a bath once a week whether we needed it or not.”

“
Si
, Meester Bo, I remember,” Felix agreed,
leading him down the hallway.

Champ followed their progress with a sad shake of his
head. “Sorry about that.”

“No need to apologize,” I said softly.

His anguished sigh filled the entryway. “This is so
goddamned tough to watch I can hardly stand it.” His eyes looked a little
moist. “You should have known him before. Big, strapping, happy-go-lucky
fellow. Good husband, good father, good provider. I’ll tell you what, he and
my uncles and my grandpa worked their hands to the bone, working sunup to
sundown, year in and year out, putting up with all manner of hardships to make
this place what it is today. What it used to be anyhow.”

“I wish I’d known him then too,” I said.

He brightened marginally. “And could he ever spin a
yarn! Man alive. He could give you a complete history about the origins of
this ranch and tell you everything there was to know about this whole area
going back a hundred years. Still can some days,” he said, tamping his hat
down over his thick hair. “Funny, sometimes he remembers stuff from fifty
years ago clear as a bell, but he can’t remember what he did yesterday.”

“Who’s Penelope?‌”

The reflective smile softened his craggy features.
“My mother. She had real pretty red hair too when she was young. He always
called her Babydoll. She died…let’s see, it’s been about ten years ago now.
He’s gone downhill a lot since then.”

“I’m sorry.”

He cleared his throat. “Yeah, we all are. But, those
are the cards we’ve been dealt and with God’s help we’ll get through it. So
now, little lady, if you’re ready I’ll be happy to take you to the front lines
of our little war zone,” he said, his voice assuming a more business- like
quality.

“Give me two minutes to get my things and I’ll be
right with you,” I said, placing one hand on the banister. I’d barely taken
two steps when I heard the scrape of footsteps from above. To my dismay, Jason
Beaumont clomped down the stairs towards us with a saucy swaggering gait,
fastening the holster of a 9mm handgun to his waist. When his distracted gaze
zeroed in on me, it was interesting to watch his cocky, self-assured expression
alter with each progressive downward step. On closer inspection his initial
indifference evaporated into disbelief, recognition, and finally a blaze of
animosity.

“Jason,” his father called out, “meet Kendall O’Dell.”

“We’ve met,” I said dryly.

He clattered to the bottom of the steps. “What…what
the hell is this bitch doing in our house?‌” he snarled, his finger pointed only
inches from my nose.

Champ’s thick brows plunged into his beet-red face.
“What’s the matter with you, boy?‌”

“I hope you haven’t been talking to her about any of
our private family stuff. Don’t you know she’s one of those dumb-ass media
sluts?‌”

Champ roared, “You’d best watch your mouth! Kendall
happens to be a friend of Bradley Talverson. She’s come down here to do a
story on our border problems, plain and simple. Now I believe you owe her an
apology.”

Unmoved by Champ’s appeal, the wispy strawberry-blonde
beard on his chin quivered as he snarled, “I don’t owe her shit. You’re being
set up, Dad. I know for a fact she’s working for the enemy. A couple of us
saw her at the rally yesterday and we spotted her twice afterwards chauffeuring
that Lopez woman around town.”

The affable light faded from Champ’s eyes. “Is this
true?‌”

“I don’t have clue one as to what he’s talking about.
I was with an employee of mine by the name of Lupe Alvarez. She went home sick
yesterday morning.” Flushed with anger, I turned back to Jason. “No doubt
made sicker by you and your moronic bunch of skinhead thugs. And by the way, I
didn’t appreciate your childish game of road rage either.”

“What’s she talking about?‌” There was a dangerous
edge to Champ’s voice.

Uncertainty ruled Jason’s face for a fleeting second
before he reasserted himself with a sarcastic, “It was no big deal. Me and a
couple of the guys was just having a little fun. Okay, so maybe we had a few
too many beers and made a mistake. Is it my fault that wetbacks all look the
same to me?‌” Smirking, he brushed past me and disappeared into the kitchen.

Champ surveyed my heated face with chagrin. “I
apologize for any trouble caused by my son. He can be kind of a hothead at
times.”

I gave him a quick overview of what happened,
including the cat incident. “There is no excuse for terrorizing people or
animals.”

His skyward glance seemed to be searching for
inspiration. “Look, these kids are just responding to a situation we have no
control over. Folks who aren’t from around here don’t have any idea what we’re
up against. Our livelihood is at stake, our families, our sovereignty for
chrissake! Most of the news reporters soft peddle what’s really happening.
The awful truth is, we’re under siege! It’s like living in a pressure cooker
every single day and I guess Jason, like all of us, sometimes tends to
overreact.”

Overreact?‌ I longed to ask him what he thought of
Jason’s open declarations of hatred and bigotry on full display in his room, but
didn’t want to reveal how I knew. “Who’s this Lopez woman he mentioned?‌”

His clenched jaw made the chords in his neck stand
out. “An activist lawyer who heads up one of those immigration advocacy groups
in Tucson. That woman has made it her mission in life to make
our
lives
a living hell. For the record, just so you get the whole picture, this Mexican
bitch is suing my ass for a half a millions bucks for so-called human rights
violations against a bunch of trespassing illegals who trashed
my
property!”
He gulped in a couple of calming breaths, started to speak again and then
apparently thought better of it, clamping his mouth shut for a few seconds
before saying in a carefully controlled tone, “I’ll be waiting for you in my
truck.”

He stomped away without another word, grabbing a set
of keys off a hook beside the door. Walter was right on the money. This place
was a tinderbox of volatile emotions on all sides, poised to explode at the
slightest provocation. A war zone. Not a happy thought. Needless to say, the
discord had my belly in a nervous stew as I raced back down the stairs after
retrieving my tape recorder, camera and jacket. But, I had to admit that I was
intrigued by what I’d learned so far. The yearning to solve Lupe’s dilemma was
still dominant, but it was a real stretch to think that I was going to come up
with anything viable by this afternoon. On the other hand, the opportunity for
a feature article on the ongoing border tensions was tangible. Why go home
empty-handed?‌

In the kitchen once more, I noticed Jason and Bethany
with their heads together at the far end of the table as I made my way towards
the side door. The glitter of malicious humor reflected in her swift sideways
glance pretty much confirmed that I was most likely the subject of their cozy
chitchat. To hell with both of them. Shrugging into my jacket, I stepped
outside and hurried towards Champ’s green Chevy pickup, breathing in the
frosty, hay-scented air and reaffirming that Rascal still retained his number one
spot as my favorite member of this motley household.

The brilliant rays of the rising sun breaking over the
distant peaks illuminated the almost full moon, poised above the western
horizon like a pearly-gray medicine ball. The wind hadn’t abated much since
last night and, in fact, seemed to have gained strength.

Cloaked in a Levi jacket trimmed with a sheepskin
collar and sipping fresh coffee from a large mug, Champ’s frame of mind
appeared to have improved somewhat as I climbed in beside him. He agreed to my
request to use the tape recorder for our interview and then, after a couple of
minutes of initial awkwardness, seemed to forget it was there.

With a look of pride shining in his eyes, he explained
how the neat row of guest cottages behind the main house had once belonged to
various family members. Less than a year ago, they had been completely
remodeled. There were also two bunkhouses for visitors wishing to ‘rough it.’
I noticed that much like the Starfire, there was a hum of activity about the
place even at such an early hour. Ranch hands on foot, horseback and driving
dusty weather-faded pickups, exchanged friendly salutes with Champ as we
cruised by whitewashed stables and pipe corrals filled with horses, sheep, goats
and even a few llamas. He informed me that the smaller animals had recently
been added as an attraction for guests with children. Their list of services
also included trail rides, hayrides, cookouts, participation in branding and
cattle roundups and even western dances. Within minutes, we left the trappings
of civilization behind and headed out into the open range where straggling
herds of white-faced cattle munched on smoothly sculpted hills of dry grass.
Beyond the vast cactus-strewn grasslands, tier after tier of rugged mountain
ranges thrust upward to collide with the bold blue sky. It was hard to believe
that a single family held stewardship over such a gigantic empire when most of
us are lucky to own a tiny plot of acreage at some point in our lives.

“Man, this place would be perfect to film a western
movie,” I remarked with a note of admiration.

He chuckled. “Did you ever see
The Last Arizona
Cowboy
?‌”

“No, I don’t think so.”

“Well, it was made right here five years ago.”

“No kidding?‌”

“And that wasn’t the only one. We registered with the
Arizona Film Commission after that and there’ve been four other movies shot
here. A cable station was down here just a couple of months ago doing a TV
movie.”

“Is it lucrative?‌”

He edged me a meaningful glance. “Oh, yeah,
definitely. They even used Brett as an extra in the last one and, before that,
Jason and a couple of his buddies picked up quite a chunk of change helping to
tear down some of the sets and haul stuff away.”

“How exciting for everyone.”

“Sometimes. Those Hollywood types can be a real pain
in the ass, pardon my French. Real bossy. Demanding. And temperamental. Their
crews tear up the roads something awful hauling equipment in those big trucks.
They’re noisy and messy, but I’ve got to say the meals put together by the
catering companies they hire is just about the best damn food I ever ate.” He
laughed and rubbed a hand over his generous middle.

We rode in silence for a few minutes until he pointed
to the cracked shingles of mud stretched across empty stock ponds, explaining
that they were usually eight to ten feet deep with runoff from the summer
rains. “That little spit of moisture we got yesterday was useless.” He shook
his head, scanning the distant vista with a thoughtful look. “You know, I
thought my dear wife had lost her marbles when she first came up with the idea
of starting a dude ranch. But, after nearly seven years of drought conditions,
grazing allotments being cut, and skyrocketing fees, well, our backs were against
the wall. In the salad days, we were running ten thousand cows and about one
thousand bulls. Our calves were going for a buck a pound. Now we’re lucky to
get sixty-five cents.” A little smile quivered at the corner of his mouth.
“We owe your guy big time for saving our butts. Tally worked out an
arrangement for taking some of the cattle in trade for some of those
fine-looking Appaloosas. They make the best dang saddle horses in the world
but, frankly, I’m afraid he’s losing money on the deal even though he’d never
admit it.”

“How long have you known Tally?‌” I asked, moving the
small microphone a little closer to him, noticing that the wrinkles
crisscrossing his cheeks and creasing the corners of his eyes were so
pronounced it looked as though he’d had his face pressed up against a wire
screen for twenty years.

“His pa, Joe, and me knew each other since we were
knee high to a bullfrog. Used to compete at the county fairs and rodeos all
the time.” He turned to me, grinning impishly. “Guess you can figure out
which one of us came in first most of the time.”

I smiled back. So that meant Champ had known Tally
all his life. And it also confirmed my suspicion that Tally must be well
acquainted with both of the enchanting Beaumont offspring. The uncomfortable
knot of suspicion inside me intensified, but I admonished myself once again for
being silly. Tally was an intelligent guy. He wouldn’t have the slightest
interest in a spoiled brat like Bethany.

“I’m gonna show you just a small example of our
problems,” he said, turning onto a narrow side road. We bounced along until it
tapered into little more than a sandy path. Then, he stopped and invited me to
join him outside. Strong wind gusts grabbed my hair and smacked it repeatedly
across my face. “Does the wind ever stop blowing out here?‌” I asked, capturing
my unruly locks in one hand.

“Nope. That’s one thing around here that’s pretty
constant.” We walked towards a thick grove of mesquite. I wasn’t sure why
until I noticed the piles of trash littering what should have been the pristine
landscape. Beneath the low overhang of shrubbery was a small clearing where
the range grass had been flattened or obliterated by the heavy foot traffic. A
flash of irritation shot through me when I saw the piles of discarded plastic
gallon water jugs. There must have been fifty or sixty of them. Scattered
everywhere were empty food tins, diapers, toilet paper, beer bottles and
discarded cans of a Mexican beverage called Jumex. Empty potato and tortilla chip
bags, along with dark green plastic garbage bags snagged in the foliage,
snapped and crackled in the stiff wind. The mess was appalling.

I looked up and saw the aggravation in Champ’s eyes.
He pointed to the ground, grimacing. “My Border Patrol buddies call this a
lay-up area. That’s where the guides or two-legged
coyotes
, or whatever
you wanna call these scumbags, drop off their loads of jumpers. They camp out
here and wait for their ride. And this,” he continued, moving his index finger
to a well-worn footpath snaking away through the brush, “is just one of dozens
of paths they’ve worn clean through my property all the way from the blasted
border. Can you believe we just cleaned this area up a few days ago?‌” he
huffed. “Now, along with everything else, we get to be trash pickers, and
that’s not all. These people kill off wildlife and set fires to cook and keep
warm in the winter. I tell you, it’s a goddamn losing battle.”

“I saw the results of one fire when Payton drove me
over to Dean’s place yesterday,” I said.

A heavy sigh. “Yeah, that’s just the latest in a
string of ‘em. Considering how dry everything is we’re lucky they haven’t
burned down the whole southern half of the state. On top of that is the five
head of prime beef we’ve lost over the past year because my cattle eat these
plastic water jugs they leave behind. Two other head escaped through cut
fences and were killed on the highway. A friend of mine over at the Dunbar
spread is being sued by a woman who ran into one of his bulls and is now
paralyzed. Every rancher in this area is suffering because of this unstoppable
invasion of our country. And make no mistake about it,” he said with a curt
nod, “it’s just that, an
invasion
.”

I had an instant vision of the big black bull I’d
encountered on Arivaca Road and thanked my lucky stars I’d been able to stop in
time. As we drove back towards the main road, I noticed that the glow of pride
in his eyes had dimmed.

Champ tapped the horn and waved towards a horse and
rider silhouetted on a windswept bluff. The rider responded by brandishing a
rifle. “That,” Champ said, pointing his chin at the man, “is a primary example
of wasted manpower. In order to protect my own property right here in the
so-called sovereign US of A, I am forced to hire extra hands to stand lookout
and chase these people down when I should be paying them to put in a good day’s
work.”

“I hope this question doesn’t offend you, but I have
to ask it. I couldn’t help but notice that you, along with Tally and every other
ranch I’ve visited lately, employ Mexican laborers. Isn’t it just a little bit
hypocritical of you guys to complain about the influx of these people when
you’re helping to create the problem?‌”

He flicked me a look of irritation. “Look, we’re not
talking about migrants coming here with a legal temporary work permit. It’s too
bad the government did away with the old
b
racero
program. In
most cases, it worked pretty well for both sides. No, ma’am. We’re talking
about having to deal with a new and more dangerous breed of criminal ilk
invading our borders, and that includes these terrorist cells.”

“Isn’t it the Border Patrol’s job to apprehend these
people?‌”

A shrug accompanied his tired sigh. “I’ll tell you
something. I know a lot of these guys personally and they work their asses off
doing the best they can, but let’s face it, even though things have really
tightened up a lot at the legal border crossings with the National Guard
helping out, there’s no way on God’s sweet earth they can hire enough agents to
patrol the whole two thousand miles. If you ask me, I’d say the only solution
left is to bring in the military.”

“You mean the Army?‌”

“Yes ma’am. Them or the Marines! It’s the federal
government’s job to secure our borders and they’re doing a piss poor job of
it. Last month me and the boys rounded up over 400 illegals,” he said with a
sharp laugh. “Maybe we ought to be on the payroll.”

“That’s a lot of people.”

He snickered. “Oh, that’s a drop in the bucket. You
know how many were apprehended last year?‌”

“No.”

“Over 700,000, and we’re not seeing just Mexicans. If
you check with the Border Patrol you’ll find that Orientals are coming in,
Eastern Europeans and even people from the Middle East.” He shot me a grave
look, tacking on, “And after what happened in New York, we can’t afford to fool
around. We need to be extra vigilant protecting our country’s borders, because
that number only reflects the people that were actually caught. You see why
we’re calling it an invasion?‌”

He had a point, a very good point.

“Do the math,” he went on. “Multiply that number
along the entire Mexican border and you get some idea of just exactly what
we’re up against. Oh, I’m sure you think I’m a hard-hearted so and so, but I
have one simple question. Why don’t we
force
the Mexican government and
all these other corrupt countries to take care of their own people?‌ Then they
wouldn’t be pouring across, using up our resources as a nation, draining social
services meant for our own people, clogging hospitals, overrunning our schools,
illegally voting to influence our elections and who knows what other God-awful
mayhem they may have planned for us.” His hands clasped and unclasped the
steering wheel. “Have you heard the latest thing the damn Mexican government
is up to?‌”

“Um…I’m not sure.”

“Now they’re providing survival kits to make it easier
for these people to cross the desert.”

“You’re kidding?‌”

“No, I’m not,” he grumbled. “I just read it in the
paper. The kits contain food and water, medicine for scorpion and snakebites,
salt, even birth-control pills for the women, for chrissakes! I know it’s
politically incorrect to be suspicious of people from different cultures, but I
think Americans are finally waking up and realizing what’s happening to our
sovereignty. People who enter this country illegally are lawbreakers. Some of
them are dangerous criminals and I’m tired of the fuzzy-headed thinkers in
Washington making us feel like the bad guys for defending ourselves. You can
feel free to quote me on that.” His mottled complexion and heavy breathing
revealed passionate opinion, but he didn’t strike me as unreasonable, just a
patriotic man with strong convictions. Did he approve of his son’s involvement
in the White power movement?‌ I was beginning to suspect that he just might.
By his tone, I wouldn’t be all that surprised if his sympathies lay in that
direction also. And, considering the ongoing problems, would anyone blame him?‌

Ahead, the road seemed to go on forever. “How are you
able to monitor a place this size?‌ It seems like you’d have to employ a
hundred hands just to check out the property every day.”

He chuckled. “I would if I didn’t own an airplane.”

“No kidding?‌ Well, I guess that makes sense.”

“Look over there,” Champ said, wagging a finger
towards a tower perhaps thirty feet high with a small shack snuggled at the
base. At first I thought it might be a cellular transmission tower but, as we
drew closer, I could see a man at the top sitting on a platform, binoculars
trained on the southern horizon. “That’s the newest addition in our private
war against Mexico. At night we use infrared binoculars and I want to tell
you, we hit the jackpot a couple of weeks back when we snagged eight packers
loaded up with cocaine and heroine sneaking across about two in the morning.
It was pretty nerve-wracking, because one of those suckers was armed and meant
business. But, we overpowered him and held the bunch of them until our Border
Patrol guys got here.”